The most dangerous hours, and the most anticipated hour!

[Norman]

The most dangerous hours, prelude to the most anticipated hour

The small hours before daybreak are the most dangerous, even when sailing is pleasant and worry free.  They may even be more dangerous than the same hours when you are being pounded by foul weather.  In demanding or fearful conditions, the adrenalin is driving you beyond the normal level of alertness and endurance.  The normal drive to live holds us at a tense and alert condition which reduces the likelihood of failing to notice small but important changes that occur around us, our senses are on high level of sensitivity, and all sounds are processed as possible failures of boat systems.  This makes the hours that pass more draining physically, but increases your probability of surviving.

AT 4 or 5 in the morning your senses are at their lowest ebb, the body is demanding some sleep, and your eyes tend to go out of focus, un noticed in the dark.  As you fight to keep your eyes open and posture erect, the whole world around you is poorly observed.  The lights of an approaching vessel may not be noticed due to the lack of good scanning, out of focus eyes, or failure to move about to see around the sails or structure of your boat.  A very slow but continuous change in the rpm of the engine may not be noticed, or corrected by a small increase in throttle setting to keep the prescribed cruise speed.  Your brain is so involved in keeping awake; it fails to analyze the cause of the variation.  The wind slowly shifts, and the  vane steering slowly steers for shore, but the compass is not being watched as closely as it normally would be, everything seems completely normal.  If someone should come on deck and ask what course you are holding, you may have to think a bit before responding, or even check the log for the last entry of desired course.  Unfortunately, the mind is not very dependable at this hour, and it is a natural condition that we must recognize and find ways to overcome when we are standing watch, whether we are on the open ocean, in the ICW, or a large bay.

These hours end with a sunrise, or at least light to enhance the visual scene, activate the senses to a higher awareness, and the danger is mostly over.  The internal keeper of the rhythms of life is now happy to have you active and alert, the conventional, conditioned time for sleep is past, and a new day is upon us.  The first hint of dawn, a faint lightness in the east, the faint ghostly appearance of the mast and rigging, all initiate the increased activity of the brain, subtly and slowly.  This may have progressed quite a bit, un noticed by your conscious self, but as soon as you realize that there is light defining a horizon in the east, you are conscious of the new day.

The numbers in the log book, 00:01 for time, do not really start the new day, but rather sunrise.  All night was just an extension of the old day, slowly dying until the light in the east decreed the start of a new day.  Many times I have sat in the impenetrable dark of a heavily overcast night, and watched the world slowly materialize around me, and felt the lift of the spirits that always comes with the appearance of the world, no matter where I have been.  The change is even more exciting to the senses if there were stars out, and some light, and the new day unfolds with color and brilliance to feast the eyes on.  The modern sailor is obliged to record the best of these sunrises with his camera, and those of us not fortunate enough to be there can then enjoy what greeted him ?at the break of day?.  You will share the beauty of the sunrise, but he felt a whole world of emotion that you miss.   You need not even be looking to the east to get an amazing show.  One morning standing watch in the foothills of the Alps, I observed as the tops of the Alps gradually appeared to the northwest as faint purple forms, then gradually the color slid down and was replaced at the top by redder hues, then golden, as the sun illuminated the snow on the peaks.  And the night was driven away again!

I am sure that most of the sailors here that have been on short watches for a few days have experienced the struggle to maintain the necessary alertness to keep the boat safe and all systems functioning smoothly.  The tendency to stay comfortable must be mixed with some physical activity appropriate to the motion of the boat and sea state.  As noted above, in heavy seas, the gyrations of the boat will keep you physically active, just holding to your station.  The calm times are when moving about regularly, making small tweaks of the sail trim, and looking very carefully under the sails to see what you may be missing from the comfort of your normal seat in the cockpit is most important.  Re flake or re coil any lines that have become untidy.  If there is any motion to the deck, decide if a tether is wise, and use one, not just for safety provided, but for the activity required to snap on.  All the motions kick up the heart rate, which in turn toggles a bit of the brain that is in charge of keeping you alert, pushing the other part that is trying to get you to sleep back into its quiet corner for a little longer.  Singing and talking to the passing waves are choices some have made, but in easy seas, the off watch may not approve. The important goal is eyes wide open in expectation of the long anticipated dawn, with the boat on course and shipshape.

I have learned much of this in an industrial and land based world, but the lessons are the same wherever you may be.  The mind works the same sailing on the ocean, driving a car or truck, or monitoring the autopilot as you sail in the wee small hours on the Chesapeake Bay with a thin haze hiding the shore features.  Boring and relaxing are what get you in trouble, and in the dark of an overcast night, it is easy to run up to an isolated shore without noticing the changing waves or sounds.  If the wind shifted a bit on that last tack, you gave a few taps on autopilot heading to fill the sails, hours ago.  I did not know just what triggered the sense that ?something is not right?, but I checked the depth sounder, 6 feet!,  I ordered the autopilot to tack away from shore.  It is faster to hit the buttons and prepare to trim sails than to un couple the pilot and hand steer plus tend sails.  After the tack, I realized that I could hear the gentle waves washing the beach, and the motion of the boat had changed a bit as the waves ran into shallower water.  An easy sail in gentle breezes and calm water allowed the peace and quiet that can be so great sailing, but the wee small hours brought the reduced awareness of the surroundings natural to the time of night.

How do you cope with the hours before daybreak?⨪

[Tim]

Great write up Norman!

I am usually up an hour or two before daylight anyway, but if having to stand watch all night I would make sure I could get some physical exercising in. I am pretty good at 5 min naps that can carry me forward.

[Godot]

Those are for sure the toughest hours for me.

Back in my military days I recall being woken for guard duty at that time. I hated it. It took awhile to get fully alert, and those hours just seemed to take for ever to pass. While sailing, however, I get jumpy if I'm not checking the horizon every few minutes (a lesson learned some years ago after getting involved in something and not paying attention to navigation, almost resulting in a very unpleasant collision...someday I'll tell the story. Or not.). I think I tend to have more trouble for an hour or so around 23:00 when I normally am shutting down for sleep. It seems to take awhile to convince the body that, no, it is not time to go to bed. Oddly, a 00:00 to 04:00 watch is my very favorite watch (I really like four hour watches over anything shorter). Not sure why; but I just love being alert at sea during those hours.

What helps...if it is a little cool outside, dressing down until I am just a little chilly. Too cold and it is all I can think of, which doesn't help alertness, and generally discourages me from maintaining the discomfort. Too warm and I want to drift.  But a little chill seems to encourage activity.

[Norman]

Adam, guard duty at any hour is tough, but being continuously on your feet keeps the mind in active mode, did a bit of that in service too.The wee smalls go on forever, the mind is not willing to voluntarily function at that time.  Radio watch was another story, the generator humming smoothly nearby, heat rolling off the radios, and absolutely nothing happening that you can perceive without checking the readings of the 3 stacks of gear.  Purely to assure actual physical activity, we took written readings every 15 minutes.  The movements, all sitting, to reach the clip board, move in front of each set, turn thru all the positions for one meter to provide 8 values, and put the clip board away "kicked up the senses" very effectively.  Hot summer nights were the worst for drowsy.  We could not stand up, we were in a deuce and a half truck with the top bows raised a foot.

My worst challenges were driving home after 20 or more hours of emergency repairs at work locations far from home.  When you have finished your work "YOU  THINK", the plant super will not release you until the generator is on line and carrying load, maybe 3 or 4 hours later.  Your internal systems have left the high state of acuity and action that were required for the trouble isolation and repair, and are winding down to relaxed and quiescent.  This is the dangerous predesessor to nodding off on the hours drive home.  In the car, one of the options I have used is pull off the road, run around the car a few times, and continue.  Harder to do on a boat of our size!

5 minute refresher naps do not work for me, once I am asleep, it will be a long time before I wake unless disturbed.  I do wake completely in an instant, tho, and can roll out of bed and answer a phone on the first ring, fully awake and logical.  I have proved that many times.

On a boat, the rythmic nature of most of the environment lulls me to sleep quickly, unless I am actively steering, and even then, the tendency of the eyes to "take a quick close and open" is a problem.  I know from experience that the "quick" may actually be half a minute or longer, how much longer is hard to define.  The mind always insists that it was only a moment, but I had a documented accurately 40 plus seconds at 60 MPH, passing successfully through an overpass!  I have never trusted my eyes for  rests since.  I stop and take remedial action to get the mind up to speed again.  Or get some sleep.

Sheet to tiller, balanced sails, or autopilot all allow more relaxed sailing, and introduce increased need for artificial additions to the nights journey to assure an alert skipper.

Repositioning the boat from home to the satating point of a race Friday night, competing in the race the next evening and night, then bringing the boat home sunday afternoon-night is one of my challenges.  Even though we are running under power, in the wee smalls, keeping up watch for buoys and keeping accurate compass courses between them tends to get sloppy if you do not make an organized effort.  My usual activity is move from port to starboard every 10 or 15 minutes, or when passing a buoy.The owner took pride in feeding me well, but typically somewhat late, and the digestion going on also subdues the mental processes.

The glory of many sunrises does fully compensate for the wee smalls, and sometimes they go on for a long time.  At that point the spirits are on a high level of celebreation, and all is right in the world!  At such a time, when the engine unexpectedly quit, I simply unfurled the genny, advised the owner the engine could wait till later as the wind was adequate.  He wanted to get the engine problem corrected "just in case".  We compromised, raised the main, and since the boat was heeled too much for convenient work on the engine, we fixed that hours of truly perfect sailing later.

[s/v Emerald Tide]

Oddly, a 00:00 to 04:00 watch is my very favorite watch (I really like four hour watches over anything shorter). Not sure why; but I just love being alert at sea during those hours.

These are my favorite hours, too!  I hear every tiny sound the boat and the water make.  I am tuned in to the sound of the motor, if motor-sailing.  I feel truly connected to the universe of sights and sounds. 

After an hour or two of just soaking it all in, and feeling my spirit at complete peace, I like to start journaling my thoughts and feelings.  It might just be writing down every tiny noise I hear, or reflecting on the days events, or whatever seems to be floating around in my mind. I imagine reading this journal, when caught up in the frantic pace of life off the boat, and hope that the journal can draw me back to this peaceful and connected place with my soul.

I use a headlamp with a dim red light.  Every few minutes, I pause, and check the instruments, and the horizon, and the sails.  I often wish these hours would never end.  But the sunrise, as it slowly creeps up over the course of an hour or so brings the anticipation of a brand new sunrise, with whatever new beauty I'm going to be treated to.  When it is partly cloudy, the sunrise will be glorious. 

My favorite color is that beautiful deep bluish-purple the sky turns, as it is considering bringing the sunrise.  This may be because of the 23 years I worked night shifts, and had the chance to go outside and watch the day begin to unfold.  Anticipation!

[CharlieJ]

Sunrise at sea is one of my favorite times .

[CapnK]

Solo, my 'toughest' hours are probably between 1 and 3:30-4, when the body expects to be sleeping through the darkest parts of the night, and then again 2-3 hours after sunrise, as if in protest for having missed those few hours it could have been wandering in dreams. But around 4 or so, an hour before the first glimmerings of dawn could even possibly be seen, my body wakes up and starts looking for it, looking for the signs that tomorrow is indeed arriving.And I've noticed that usually far ahead of any light is a small change in the wind, maybe direction, maybe speed, but I think it comes so far ahead because of the pressures of the atmosphere, lit and beginning to heat still so far away, transfer to those of us yet under the edge of the dark. A barometric semaphore, slight and easily missed, amazingly created by the heat of a small star some 93 million miles away...

[s/v Emerald Tide]

A barometric semaphore, slight and easily missed, amazingly created by the heat of a small star some 93 million miles away...

Grog for that!

[SailorTom]

Sunrise at sea is one of my favorite times .

Ditto! While in the USN I almost always stood duty on the midwatch(00:00-08:00local) and always tried to get to the deck to watch the sunrise! And on small boats the stormy night followed by a calming morning is always remembered:)